Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow
by Emmeebee
Summary: Seamus and Lavender were friends for a long time. At some point — he doesn't know when — he fell in love with her. But the brightest stars always burn out the fastest.


A/N: Written by Chaser 1 of Montrose Magpies for Round 10 of QLFC.

Prompt: CHASER 1: 1990s: One Sweet Day — Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men

Optional prompts: (word) arrow; (word) luminous; (restriction) no character names

Word count: 1627 on Word

AU in that it doesn't necessarily fit in with Harry, Ron and Hermione's take on Lavender, but they're seeing everything through the eyes of people who are either annoyed by, crushing on, or jealous of her, whereas Seamus is seeing her through the eyes of a close friend with a massive crush, so I think he would be noticing different parts of her personality. Same with Seamus, actually – since none of them are particularly close to him, they wouldn't know how he thinks or behaves when he's in love.

* * *

 _July 1996_

Her laughter rings out, loud and vibrant, as he spins her in a slow circle. He follows her with his eyes, a smile forming on his face to match the bright grin that she's sporting. Her hips move in time with the music, sending her skirt rustling through the air around her. He knows that his family is watching, probably wondering about this girl he invited over for the summer holidays, but he doesn't care. In that moment, she is so luminous that he is sure she could light up even the darkest of rooms with her happiness alone.

He's well aware that his friends would make fun of him for thinking such a thing. If he weren't the one thinking it, he probably would, too.

But he's also well aware that he has got it bad.

"Someone's watching you," he says, glancing over at the boy who has been eyeing her for the past half an hour. "At two o'clock. Mine, not yours."

As she completes the circle and steps back into his arms, she rolls her eyes. He is pleased that she didn't even glance over in the direction he indicated, though he knows he has no right to feel that way. "Trying to get rid of me?"

 _I thought flirting with an Irishman was on your bucket list,_ he thinks, but he refrains from saying it. Just like how when she first mentioned that goal, he refrained from pointing out that he's an Irishman and that she could flirt with him if she liked. He knows that she isn't interested in a relationship, and he doesn't want to complicate their friendship by letting her know that he _is._ Still, he doesn't exactly want to watch her go and flirt with someone else, either. He has to deal with that enough at Hogwarts.

"You're the one who wanted me to introduce you to some of my friends," he says instead.

"I was," she admits, her movement stilling for a second as she takes her hand off his shoulder so she can push a chunk of curly blonde hair out of her eyes, "but I'm not going anywhere. I'm having too much fun here with you."

"I'm certainly not complaining," he says with a shrug, spinning her around once more. As much as he loves his family, his cousin's birthday parties aren't his kind of thing. Truth be told, it isn't so much the parties as it is the people — they're nice enough, but he doesn't exactly relish their company. Having her here with him is making it not just bearable, but genuinely fun. "What do you think of Belfast so far?"

Somehow, her smile deepens even further. "It's amazing; I love it so much. Honestly, I don't think I ever want to leave. London's fantastic, but Belfast just seems kind of… magical, I guess — and, yes, I recognise the irony of me saying that when we literally spend most of our time at a magic school."

He grins at her words. They have spent countless nights talking with their friends about all the places they would like to travel one day, and Ireland has always been at the top of her list. He's glad that she's getting the chance to see it now, even if her trip is confined to Belfast and its immediate surrounds. He stamps down on the little voice inside him that points out that he's also relieved that she can see how special his hometown is and loves it as much as he does.

"I know I've said this before, but thank you so much for inviting me to stay with you."

"It's my pleasure."

"Watch out," she says, stepping backwards while tugging him towards her. He follows her before glancing over his shoulders to see a pair of dancers dart through the place where he was standing.

"Thanks." When he turns back to face her, he's surprised by how close together they are. For a moment, he considers telling her how he feels and letting the chips fall where they may. But it isn't as straightforward as opening his mouth and letting it all come out. She's still hurting after being dumped by the Hufflepuff boy she's had a crush on since third year, and he's still afraid of how she might react, and they're both on a holiday that could get very awkward very quickly if she doesn't feel the same way. He would have to find the right words, then he would have to get them out without making a mess of it, and then he would have to endure the longest few seconds of his life while waiting for her to reply.

So he doesn't. "You're one of my closest friends," he says, carrying on from what he was saying before the interruption. It's true, although it's not the whole truth, and it's certainly a misleading truth. "You're welcome here anytime."

"Be careful. You might come to regret that one day." She doesn't seem to notice that he's hiding something. Instead, she smiles and starts to dance again, pulling him along until he takes the lead once more.

And he doesn't want to take his eyes off her.

-x-

 _July 1998_

He sits at the abandoned bar, staring out across the dancefloor. It's empty except for the confetti that dots its shining hardwood floor. If it were up to him, he would be at home right now, drinking alone. But even though he told them multiple times that socialising is the last thing in the world that he feels like doing at the moment, his parents insisted on throwing him a welcome home party and inviting everyone they know. He ended up confining himself to a corner all night, making small talk with anyone who approached him but otherwise distancing himself from the proceedings.

He wonders whether it was destiny or luck that made them choose the exact same hall he took _her_ to for his cousin's party just two short years earlier.

Closing his eyes, he can still remember the way she snorted as he tried to lift her, only to mess up his footwork and send them both stumbling. He can remember how the disco ball sent colours whirling across their bodies and made her giant blue eyes sparkle like far-off stars, the kind that burn so bright and hot that they simply explode. He can remember how matter-of-fact her voice sounded as she assured him that she wanted to stay with him — as if it were the most natural thing in the world. At the time, he was surprised that she was forgoing her chance to find someone to work through her bucket list with. In hindsight, he wonders whether, maybe, she already had. Perhaps he was just so used to seeing her as unavailable that he couldn't tell; they were friends for so long that he never seriously considered the possibility that she might see him any other way.

They were so young and foolish back then. They knew about what happened at the Ministry, but they had resolved not to think about it while she was there. Instead, they made the most of the summer, running around Belfast as if they didn't have a care in the world. She had always been interested in Ireland, and he was determined to show her as much of the city and its surrounds as he could in the two weeks she was there. It felt, as she said, magical.

Times were simpler back then. They were still children; they knew that something was coming, but they still saw war through the lens of people who thought they knew what it entailed because they had learned about it at school. They didn't have the ability to imagine how bad it could get or how quickly thoughts of valour and glory lost meaning when they were tested day after day for months without end.

And he never imagined that she might be taken from him so young, leaving nothing behind but ghosts and memories and ghosts _of_ memories that once meant so much to him but that he can no longer recall. Until he lost her, he didn't realise how much he took her presence and her blinding smile for granted.

Now, he knows.

If he could, he would go back to those precious two weeks and just bask in the childish innocence. He would hold her in his arms once more, swaying from side to side, and tell her everything that he couldn't bring himself to say the first time. It wouldn't matter whether she felt the same way; she deserved to know.

Because as corny as he knows it sounds, it's like his whole life has been an arrow pointing straight towards her. From his letter from Hogwarts to being Sorted into Gryffindor to the first time they spoke in the common room, fate or destiny or luck or whatever it should be called was leading him towards meeting her. Then, for a brief time, it pointed directly beside him as they grew up and ran amok and fought a war together.

And now that she's gone, it's pointing back towards her as well.

No, that's not right; it's pointing forwards. He knows that she's in heaven now and that he'll be there with her one day, whatever that might entail. He will get the chance to tell her the things he never did: that she's one of his closest friends _and_ he fancies her, that he loves her, and that he misses her when she's not around. And he will savour it.

But until then, he has to keep on trying and keep on living. For her and for himself.

Starting tomorrow.


End file.
